


Circuit Breaker

by Macx



Series: Firewall [8]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Psychic Bond, Series, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 23:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond returns to Skyfall. It's not easy, but then again it is. It's his past, it's his future. And he isn't alone as he faces his demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circuit Breaker

**Author's Note:**

> A little interlude to tide you over till the next fic :) Enjoy!

November had claimed the land. The air was crisp, the moors frosted over by the icy nights. Foxes scoured the cold landscape for mice and insects not gone to ground. Birds had either migrated or prepared for winter. November brought gloomy days with unpredictable rain showers, or bright, sunny spells with blue skies. The leaves had turned brown early in fall and what had remained were barren trees and clumps of brown grass.

Autumn was firmly heading into winter.

But even in the silence of early winter, there was beauty. The shades of brown were intriguing, the fog clinging to the softly rising hills blanketing the land as it prepared for the dark of winter. Here and there were signs of civilization, small towns, remote lodges, a hiker or two. But soon even those would seek out better climate.

Not much longer and the snow would come here. The mountain tops showed powdery white hats already.

The Scottish moors were silent as a single figure stood at the top of the road that led to what had once been a hunting lodge. Large, ancient, ugly. Gray stone, dark shingles. It had been a monument to the generations that had come before, a dinosaur out of long-gone times when those of better standing had had such immense lodges, miles upon miles of land, and game that they had hunted throughout the seasons.

Skyfall.

Where it had started.

Where it had ended.

Where he had died in flames and risen with the same. Proverbially. He hadn’t truly died that night, though it could have happened.

It was a remote place, even for a hunting lodge. Beautifully situated, in a gentle dip of the landscape, mountains around it, sloping ever-so slightly to touch the sky, and a frozen lake just at the doorstep. The stretch of land belonging to the lodge was immense.

It had been in his family for generations.

The graveyard next to the small chapel bore witness to it.

He hadn’t come back here ever since his parents’ death, when he had been just a boy. He had left this place, the memories, the trauma. He had buried it all, had pushed it away, had locked it in a dark, dark corner of his mind.

But it was common knowledge. It was a trigger for him, a key to his soul, a knife that stabbed at anything that had survived that night. A poison. Skyfall had been a poison.

And he had come back here when he had tried to save a woman he had respected more than she might ever know.

His home advantage. A place he knew better than their enemy.

Still he had lost.

He had lost M.

James Bond glanced at the figure not far away, wearing a duffel coat against the nipping cold of the Scottish winter, breath clouding in front of his face. The dark hair was wind-whipped, the pale face flushed red from the frozen air. The woolen scarf wrapped around his neck almost obscured half the youthful face. It was a deep red, standing out against the dreary brown and gray, against the dark brown of the coat.

But it wasn’t the color that drew his gaze to the other man. It was him alone.

Q regarded him so calmly, Bond felt the quietness seep into him, smooth over the sharp waves of anger and loss and pain. Q was a rock in the stormy sea that was his preternatural side and he always would be. He held on to that rock, quieted his own darkness, without smothering it.

Nothing could take it away.

Nothing could lessen it.

He was what he was, a preternatural. A phoenix. A dark, dark creature of violent nature. Ferocious, untamed, and now without chains.

And Q took that vicious creature like it was, accepted it completely. He was part of the phoenix, part of its soul, and it felt… right.

Bond looked back at the ruins. The chilly air was seeping through his jacket.

It had started here. It had been when the boy had become a man. It had been when the preternatural in him had first stretched its wings, sinking into his soul and making him what he now was.

It had ended here with M and Silva, with the explosion of the lodge. It had been so much more than coming back into the service, defying all rumors and whispers. He had felt the strength come back. He had felt alive again. He had survived and he had avenged.

A first step of many in this new life.

Bond started down the dirt road that led to the bare bones of the house he had grown up in. It still reeked of the smoke, of flames, of death.

The phoenix rumbled, finely attuned to the latter.

No bodies had remained. Nothing spoke of what had occurred here.

Blackened bones of the ancient house. Nothing else.

Bond inhaled deeply.

Behind him the steps of his quartermaster announced his arrival, but he didn’t need to hear him to know he was there. A steady and steadying presence, his balance, the one person he had been looking for ever since… since then.

Q hadn’t made much fuss about this weekend trip. Bond hadn’t planned on taking him along, but then his quartermaster had been there, silent, waiting, giving him this pointed look.

Of course he had known, Bond had realized. It hadn’t really been a covert operation when the agent had rented a car and packed a bag. It also hadn’t been much of a discussion whether or not Q would come along. Bond had felt strangely at ease when his quartermaster had wordlessly packed gear and clothes.

The latest events had fused them together even more, had created something a lot stronger than a technopathic anchor or a phoenix’s anchor should be.

Not that there was so much reference material to work with. Bond knew that Q had researched everything, had talked to those knowledgeable about preternatural abilities, but a phoenix was too rare and technopaths were too reclusive.

They worked with what they had and they worked with it quite well. Ups and downs happened, of course, like in every partnership. But things were developing. Bond knew they had surpassed the expected result of the connection already and gone on into something completely unexplored and new.

Now they were here.

Blackened bones and ash had remained. Nothing would rise here ever again. All that had been left inside, the furniture and small trinkets, a few heirlooms, had either been sold or gone up in the fire.

Blazing hotly over the moors, red and orange and yellow, dancing like evicted spirits until it had run out of fuel.

Q was at his side, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, silent, eyes distant. It was the first time he saw the result of that night. Not through a camera or satellite image, not a digital image downloaded onto his laptop. This was real. This was where things had come to an end.

The preternatural was silent, at peace. Bond had never been at peace ever again after the first time, the night of carnage and death in this place decades ago. He could barely remember his flight into the tunnel, staying down there for two days and seeing nothing but blood and violence.

His life had become violence and death. He had buried sharp claws in his victims and torn them apart to sate the desire. He had been the best and still was.

They had called him old-fashioned, a dinosaur, a relic. They had wanted him gone and still they had relied on him to save the day.

He had killed Silva.

He had lost M.

His greatest failure.

And she had absolved him with her final breath, her eyes so full of conviction, of pride, of knowledge. She had always pushed him. She had made him more.

Bond glanced at the technopath, firmly at his side, waiting.

She had played a game, had taken a gamble, and she had been right.

Q’s eyes met his. They looked so much older than his years. Out here, in the nothingness of the moor, Q was even more of a lifeline than in the bustle of London or over the earpiece in a crowded square at the other side of the world.

It should scare an independent man like James Bond how much he relied on Q. Not just as a handler, but as… as part of him, part of the phoenix. It was a weakness; he knew that. It was a strength; he accepted that completely. It was him. He hadn’t been complete for too long and finding Q had opened doors and closed others.

M had known.

And Silva had been wrong.

They hadn’t been alike; two rats, the last ones left. Silva had been the rat, ready to devour all in his way. Bond had been the nameless predator that had eaten that rat.

Silva hadn’t been a preternatural; Bond had made sure of it. He had asked Q to hack the file, look as deep as possible, then deeper. He had scoured the files for a hint, but there had been none.

Of course, M had never made a single note about his true nature either, but that was because of what kind Bond really was. If Silva had been like him, she wouldn’t have kept that from her agent.

He had been human.

And he had betrayed his country. M had delivered him to the wolves for it. Bond had felt no mercy, no sympathies. She had made the right call.

Yes, she had also told Eve to take the shot back in Turkey. Yes, she had indirectly killed Bond. But it had been a calculated risk, one every agent had to take.

M had known what he was. Of course he would be able to come back. She had also been aware of the risk of another death, of losing yet another piece of his soul to the void inside, the ever-hungry creature he was. It had taken a lot for him to come back to England, to MI6. It had taken the attack on the too exposed building, eight deaths, many more wounded, forever handicapped and crippled.

Bond hadn’t found his peace in the bottle, in sex, in drugs. He had only found more darkness and more pain.

Q was watching him, eyes alert. He wasn’t close enough to touch, but close enough nevertheless.

His technopath. His balance. His alone.

She had known and she had taken a gamble. Bond smiled against the icy wind cutting through the moor.

Nothing had remained here. Nothing at all. His old life was over. Ashes. Dust.

He closed his eyes, the tension seeping away. The cold air was refreshing. The harsh landscape no longer a nightmare from his past.

Skyfall still belonged to him. After what had happened the buyers had been horrified and willingly cancelled the contract. He couldn’t get back what he had lost, what had already been sold and shipped, but he still had this land. Kincade had been there the whole time, nodding his assent, his eyes filled with remorse.

Bond didn’t blame him. He was just glad his old friend had survived the night. The man had been invaluable in defending M and he had been ready to give his life for a woman he had only known as ‘Emma’.

Kincade no longer had a job as Skyfall’s gamekeeper, but Bond had made sure the man would stay on, would keep an eye on the ruin. His past.

No longer a nightmare.

He needed this place in a way. He needed to know it was still here, still his. Maybe it was sentimental. He had never been sentimental before. Maybe it was just the need to remind himself of this second chance.

Bond opened his eyes and sought out the chapel. Distant, but close enough. The last resting place of his parents, the final place of his old life. He didn’t have to go there. He didn’t have to walk inside and look for the blood on the floor where M had died. He had the images burned into his mind forever.

He had said his good-byes to them a long time ago. He had still to say it to M.

Bond turned without another word and walked back to the car that was parked near the entrance gate.

The gate was the only feature of the old Skyfall lodge that had survived intact. Half of it had crumbled before Silva’s attack from neglect. The other half was still there. The stag, the guardian and watcher, looked on. As a child he had found them impressive and scary. The lonely one left looked no less imposing, aged, weathered.

Like him.

Bond almost laughed at that. Yes, he had aged. He had aged and he had looked his age after that fatal fall from the train in Turkey. Those lines had long since smoothed, regeneration taking care of it in a new way. It had needed the freedom of the phoenix, that dark, violent nature, to make that happen. It had needed Silva and the death of so many innocents. It had needed Q.

He glanced over his shoulder.

Q hadn’t followed immediately, his eyes on the chapel as well, the knowledge as deeply ingrained into him as the images in Bond’s memories.

Finally he walked after his agent, boots crunching over the frosted ground.

James was waiting for him as he closed the distance, his eyes on the stone inscription. Weathered, cracked at the edges, but still there after generations.

Skyfall.

His fall and his rise. He smiled slightly, chapped lips cold and brittle looking.

Sometimes Bond wondered if one of his parents had been a preternatural, too. Not a phoenix, no. They had both died, had both been buried. Neither had risen again. The world knew little on how preternaturals were born, what made them what they were. For all the advances in medical science and DNA analysis, this remained a mystery.

Q looked at him, that slightly quizzical but still so very aware expression. His hair was matted down by the fog, damp strands clinging to his forehead.

Bond tore his gaze from the plaque. He found himself looking at his companion. Something in him wanted to touch him, wanted to push those damp strands away, wanted to lean in and taste the cool lips, feel the heat he knew was there.

But he didn’t. Instead he got into the car and Q followed.

Bond was driving.

Of course he was.

The heat was set high and it thawed his frozen skin. He surreptitiously watched Q as he relaxed more into the leather seats, the warmth tingeing his skin with a different kind of flush. The scarf was discarded, as were the gloves. He opened his coat a little, eyes on the gray landscape.

Bond licked his lips. “Thank you,” he said, voice soft, rough.

Q glanced at him with a smile.

No more was said. No more was needed.

 

*

 

They arrived in town just after dark.

While there was a perfectly good hotel in town, Bond had chosen a small cottage that had been for rent. It belonged to the hotel, was on the same property, and was serviced by the hotel and lodge complex. Together with five others houses it was usually occupied by holiday guests.

At this time of the year all stood empty.

The agent had been pleased by that fact, feeling safer out here than in the hotel. Not that he suspected that anyone was after him, but right now he needed this solitude.

With Q.

So the two-bedroom affair with its functional kitchen and adequate living room was their place for the night. The hotel had stocked the kitchen, but they also served food in the bar and restaurant.

It was where they went for a simple meal of hearty bar food, watching a game of rugby on the television over the counter, and sharing beers.

 

*

 

If the night was more intense than normal, Q didn’t complain. He was there, completely, strong and powerful, an equal for the dark preternatural his partner was. He answered each hungry kiss, blunt nails raking over the hard body, the phoenix snarling its approval.

Harsh breaths could be heard, soft encouragements, groans of need and hunger and lust. Bond buried himself in the willing form, wanting all of Q, needing all of Q.

Mine.

Maybe he said it out loud. Maybe it was just in his head.

The possessive kiss, the bite to his lip, it was all Q.

The glasses were off, the shields down. Bond looked into the those eyes, saw the hunger reflected, saw nothing else, and it stoked the fire in him even more. The phoenix rose with a screech, pushing and pulling, wanting, needing, hungering, desiring.

Bond came hard, his body shaking with the release, and he buried his head against Q’s neck, a low groan leaving his lips. He felt the arms around his shoulders, felt the kiss, the caresses, and nothing else mattered.

 

*

 

He woke to Q’s embrace, his head resting on the technopath’s chest, long, slender fingers playing over his head, carding into his hair.

James didn’t move for a long time, just enjoying the warmth and the closeness, all the time listening to the torrential rain coming down outside. It beat heavily against the window, the darkness outside just barely making way for dawn.

It wasn’t even five o’clock yet.

Q’s heartbeat was steady and warm. He was there. Just there.

Calloused fingers found the recent scar on Q’s abdomen. Healed, looking so much better than anyone had ever expected, a reminder of nearly losing his partner. Q had survived, had healed, and he had done so much faster than a human being should be able to.

They hadn’t really talked about it. About Bond feeling him die for that one second before the crash team had started his heart again. They hadn’t talked about his healing abilities.

They just hadn’t talked.

But both men knew something had fundamentally changed them. Both were preternaturals, but that didn’t explain this.

Bond’s eyes closed under the steady thrum of the rain, the touch of his mate, and he let himself fall.

He was safe with Q.

 

* * *

 

Bond never said another word about what it had meant for him that Q had come along. The trip had been necessary. It had finally cut him loose completely. The last chains had disappeared.

From the way Q looked at him he knew.

He pulled the younger man to him, kissing him, pouring emotions into the kiss that weren’t his to give freely anymore.

A phoenix couldn’t love. It only destroyed what it touched, it tore into each lover and partner and watched them die. He had lost too many to that fate. He had seen his bed partners executed, tortured and killed by the men and women he hunted for a living.

Q smiled.

“I know,” he only said.

The darkness roiled through him, powerful and never-ending. It was a killer, it was a void that swallowed everything. Q couldn’t be touched by it or the endless hunger.

He was balance.

He was his greatest liability.

He was his strength. He was more than tech support over an ear-piece.

He was Bond’s lifeline. He was unable to detach himself from this man any more and he didn’t really want to.

M’s work. He had called her a bitch and other unsavory words. He had cursed her for what she had done to him, what she had made him do, and still… it had only ever been to keep him sane, help him survive, control what he was and no get lost.

Ever since that moment he had bonded to Q, Bond had wondered what could have happened if this had gone wrong.

It hadn’t. He doubted he would have taken Q if the phoenix had had any doubt. His preternatural side was a growling instinct, a primal force that didn’t take no for an answer. If unleashed, it was an unstoppable force.

Q had faced it calmly, had pushed back, had challenged Bond and won. He had gained an anchor in him, his only way of being what he truly was.

“Q.”

The smile grew. “007.”

Their usual spiel. It meant so much more. It had always been more, right from the start. Looking at that impossibly young quartermaster with his ridiculous hair and the glasses.

The same exchange.

The beginning.

No end.

Bond smiled, a terrifyingly dark smile that had Q tilt his head a little, almost challenging.

The kiss was a challenge in its own right. He had used his abilities like a weapon before. Bond knew how to play a body, how to use his body. He had no qualms about sex as a tool, a weapon, and seduction as a game. He was terribly good at it.

Q answered the kiss with the same intensity, not intimated, not to be used. He wasn’t an innocent or a novice. He wasn’t a target, nor was he a one-night stand.

James buried a hand in the unruly hair, enjoying the feel, enjoying everything about this man. The lean body was closer to him now, pressed against him, enticing and balancing and everything he needed.

Another hand slid over the slender back, holding him there as if Q was about to step away. Bond abandoned the mouth and drew a sensual path of nips and kisses down that long neck. Q had yet to put on a sweater and the undershirt just about covered the hickey from last night.

The phoenix was truly purring right now.

Mine.

“How about we take the long route back?” Q offered, voice a little strained.

Bond felt the smile grow even more predatory as he met the brown eyes. “I promised to show you all the sights, didn’t I?”

“There are more?”

“Oh, a lot more, quartermaster.”

“I believe M told you to take all the time you want, if you promise not to die again for three months.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Then I would think we should inform the hotel we will be staying?”

Bond pulled him close once more, the fire inside burning with unabated strength. Just the thought of having Q, out here where nothing interrupted, had him hunger for more.

“I think we should do that.”

There was a playful light dancing through those knowing eyes. “I believe they will find a reservation for this cottage for a whole week in their system.”

Bond laughed at that, a free, open laugh. He brushed callused fingers over one of his quartermaster’s temple. It was good to see him so at ease with his abilities, using the anchor Bond provided and doing something incredible.

“You are a menace, Q.”

“Learned from the best, 007.”

He started to pull Q’s shirt from the dark blue jeans.

“Eager much?” he teased.

Bond silenced him with another kiss.

Q only smiled.

 

* * *

 

Back in London M deleted an email sent by Q. He smiled a little to himself.

After recent events, with Q nearly getting killed within MI6 by one of their own, things had been rather quiet. Quiet enough to push vacation time on the two men. Mallory was quite aware of the relationship, for lack of a better word, between his Double-Oh and his quartermaster.

He didn’t give a flying fuck, to be frank.

007 functioned perfectly. He was at his very best, physically and psychologically. That he had chosen to confront his demons, return to Skyfall and face the burned husk of a lodge, had been surprising but not unexpected.

Q was more than a simple stabilizing influence for the phoenix; he was a trusted partner and friend.

No, it hadn’t blown up in their faces, this whole affair. It had given him back the most dangerous agent of the Double-Oh division, a ruthless creature that would kill easily, without a conscience. Training and its very own nature made the phoenix a formidable agent.

Q had stopped the inevitable decline. He fed the hunger and he took what he needed himself.

M had a weapon in his hands. Two weapons. He knew the future would be interesting and it might not be as smooth as he wished it would be, but it hadn’t been for his predecessor either. She had managed Bond while he was without the needed stability, a volatile, ferocious preternatural who had lashed out at everything, mostly at himself.

Mallory believed he could continue her work now that Bond had Q. The vicious circle had been interrupted.

He leaned back and looked out the window of his office.

The phoenix was free.

No one knew what it meant. No one had ever studied a bonded phoenix, let alone studied a phoenix all that closely. They were too rare. So no one knew what the future would be, how much more to expect.

Mallory smiled.

He had known it wouldn’t be easy, being M, the head of MI6. Especially with a Double-Oh like James Bond.

And he was looking forward to this future.


End file.
